Bubblegum Wrapper
by Artichokie
Summary: Young Neville Longbottom reflects after a visit to see his parents at St. Mungo's one holiday season.


**Bubblegum Wrapper  
**_By Artichokie_

He ran his hand gently over the smooth surface of the mantelpiece. Holly lined the side, filling the air with the plant's rich scent. A roaring fire was lit in the fireplace just below the ledge, warmth radiating from its controlled rage. Pictures sat upon the mantelpiece, the figures moving with ease. A larger one in the center caught the boy's attention as his hand stilled in front of it.

Neville sighed. Picking up the photograph, he turned his back to the fireplace and stared at the smiling figures. A short, blonde woman smiled up at him from within the frame. Her bright eyes twinkled at him from within her round face. Her happiness was apparent, and Neville felt a pang of sorrow within his young heart. The woman clung the arm of a taller gentleman. His face was just as vibrant, a large grin splitting his oval face. His brown hair was combed back save for a single strand that curled against his forehead. The man waved at Neville, and Neville had to fight the urge to wave back.

_These are my parents,_ he thought. He knew this to be true, but he hadn't known them like this. They were quiet now, much less responsive—lethargic, even. His mother's hair had lost the vibrant gold tinting it once held and was now replaced with a dull gray. His father never smiled. Neville wasn't sure if he simply couldn't or if he had forgotten how. Every time someone walked in, he noticed the corner's of his father's mouth try to lift. Before they could lift high enough, though, his graying eyebrows would fall down in confusion, and any hope of a smile vanished. They couldn't even recall his name—the name _they_ gave him!—but that didn't stop Neville from savoring every last minute he spent with them. They weren't allowed to leave that blindingly white room in that pristine hospital that smelled of bleach and too-sweet flowers. Bile threatened to spill out of his mouth. They didn't belong there.

He traced his mother's form with a single finger, wishing he didn't have to relegate to a mere photograph to create memories. _It's just not fair,_ he thought bitterly. _Why can't it be fair?_ His parents had been lost to him before he could even create recollections to cherish. They were as good as dead, except they weren't. They were alive and well, but only a shell of the people they once were. Neville desperately wished he could see them in their prime.

He turned around and gently placed the picture back on the mantelpiece. He stared at it for a few more seconds, giving his faint reflection in the glass covering a brief smile, before he made his way to the corner on the opposite side of the room. There a large, drying pine tree had been set up for all to see. Bright orbs of light twinkled from between the branches, and happy little figurines danced around the twigs. It was a merry scene, fitting for the season. It brought no comfort to the pain tormenting Neville.

Reaching inside of his pocket, he pulled out a small piece of paper. Pink print dotted the square piece, creases marring its otherwise smooth surface. It was his first Christmas gift of the season, his most beloved. Every year it was always the same—his Gram would take Neville to see his parents, and he would leave with a bubblegum wrapper from his mother. The sickly sweet smell of the chewing gum remained on the wrapper long after it was removed. As much as the smell reminded him of that grotesquely clean hospital, it also reminded him of his parents. His fingers closed tightly around it.

"Neville?" a small voice called to him from behind. He turned his head and glanced at the small figure framed in the archway. His Gram was a dear woman, albeit overbearing. He pulled the wrapper closer to his chest as if to obscure its presence. Despite the unconscious move, Neville knew his Gram had seen his present by the slight scowl that marred her wrinkled complexion. "I really wish you'd do away with that piece of trash."

Swallowing, Neville turned his face away. He nodded solemnly as a single tear flooded his bottom eyelid, causing the bright lights to sway dizzyingly. His Gram would never understand how much those small tokens from his mother meant to him. It was all he had left of her—of his parents. Something was better than nothing, right?

"Supper should be ready soon," he heard his Gram say from beyond his thoughts. "Why don't you go and wash up, hmm?" Neville sighed, but he didn't move. His eyes remain riveted on the Christmas tree before him, but yet he saw none of its splendor. A single tear traced the contours of his round face as he finally let go of some of his grief.

"Yes, Gram," he heard himself say, but he still didn't move. The creaking of the wooden floor behind him told him that his grandmother had moved on. He let out a sigh of relief and gently placed the bubblegum wrapper back into his pocket. Turning towards the stairs, he wiped away the evidence of his sorrow, telling himself that it was okay. Tomorrow, he knew it would be. Today, though, all he wanted to do was feel.

No one would ever understand; Neville was finally beginning to accept that fact. Placing a foot on the bottom step, he decided that he was okay with it. He was done trying to make everyone understand. As long as he was aware of why he did specific things, that's all that matters.

Determination welling up inside him, his head nodded in acquiescence with this thoughts. Yes, he was okay with that.


End file.
